Blood Kiss

by Evangeline Anderson

  I didn’t know what to say to that but I was saved by the airline hostess who was pushing a narrow cart down the aisle. She handed me a “breakfast pack” and tried to give one to Michael too, but he declined, asking for a bottle of water instead.

  Which reminded me that it had been a while since he’d had any blood. How long could he go without? He was a new vampire and they were usually eating machines for the first few months of their dark lives.

  Suddenly we had yet another reason to find holy water. I needed it to disinfect not only the Monsignor’s bite, but Michael’s as well the next time he fed from me.

  I thought of letting him bite me again—it would probably be best to let him drink from my throat. But all I could picture was his broad, muscular shoulders splitting my thighs wide as he knelt between my legs and bit me again on my slayer mark.

  A shiver of pure desire ran through me, erasing the ache of my muscles and the throbbing pain of the bite on my hand for a moment. God, was I actually looking forward to a vampire bite?

  What was wrong with me?

  And yet, though I tried to lecture myself about how wrong it was to want what I wanted, I couldn’t seem to stop wanting it—to stop wanting Michael.

  I was glad when the plane finally landed and we were able to get off. We went through customs and I had a moment of uncertainty when the agent looked extra long at my passport photo and then back at me but I kept myself from saying anything. Running off at the mouth is a sure sign of something to hide, as Uncle Harry used to say. In the end, she let me pass.

  We picked up the cheap suitcases I’d gotten at Walmart at the same time I’d gotten my snazzy new threads. I would rather have not checked any luggage at all but I couldn’t exactly take my weapons on the plane—as much as I would have liked to.

  I took a quick look inside to make certain everything was there—they always go through your luggage really thoroughly when you’re carrying any kind of weapons in it—and then wheeled the cheap suitcase over to the automated ticket machine to get some train tickets.

  “Wait, what about finding a church and some holy water?” Michael protested as I began perusing the confusing train schedule and plotting the best way to get to Wales. To be honest, there is no good way. We had flown into Gatwick International which is a little bit less crowded than Heathrow but still no picnic to navigate.

  “Holy water will have to wait,” I told him briskly. “Looks like a three hour train ride from England to Wales at least. After that, we have to find a way to get to the Gower place where the snake-lady’s sister lives.”

  “Why don’t we just rent a car?” he asked reasonably.

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You do know they drive on the opposite side of the street here, right? You feel comfortable taking that on?” As much as I liked driving my Charger back home, I had to confess that I didn’t want to try driving here. I had tried it once and it left me sweating bullets.

  So sue me—I don’t like seeing cars coming at me from what my brain insists is the “wrong” side of the road. It makes me freaking nervous.

  But Michael only shrugged as though it was no big deal.

  “Sure I know—I don’t mind. I drove here once before on a trip with my family before my parents died. It’s not a problem.”

  “Not a problem, huh?” I gave him an appraising look. Was it wrong that his driving ability, both with my own Charger back home and here in the UK, made me want him more?

  Well wrong or not, I couldn’t seem to help it. Not that I intended to show it.

  “Not a problem,” he repeated. “And it’ll probably be a hell of a lot cheaper than getting busses and trains and taxies everywhere we want to go.”

  He had a point.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s rent a car.”

  We wound up in a tiny little peanut of a car that made me wish longingly for the legroom of my Charger. Due to his height, Michael was even more crammed in than I was, but he still seemed more at ease than I felt. And, true to his word, he handled the “backward” driving just fine.

  “Show off,” I muttered as he went around the second round-about outside the airport with ease.

  “It has to do with me being ambidextrous,” he said, merging effortlessly into the flow of traffic. “My brain is more flexible than most people’s when it comes to different situations.”

  I stared at him. “You can use both hands equally well? I didn’t know that.”

  “There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Kate,” he said quietly. “After all, we’ve only been together—er, known each other—for a few days. It’s been less than a week since that first night in the ER when I stitched you up.”

  I looked out the window at the scenery rushing by. We were finally getting past the airport and its outlying areas and the English countryside was a grayish-green blur in my window. Had it really been such a short time since we’d met? Just a few days since I’d dragged him out of his ER and let him into my life against my better judgment?

  I knew it was true but it didn’t seem possible. I felt so connected to him—much more than was comfortable for me, to be honest. Feeling so much for Michael was scary—risky. Of course the fact that every other man I’d ever trusted and allowed myself to love had either died or betrayed me might have something to do with my issues.

  Nah, I was just a prickly bitch, right?

  Suddenly Michael took an exit and the tiny, peanut-sized car left the main flow of traffic.

  “Hey, what’s going on? We still have hours before we get to Wales,” I protested.

  “I’m not waiting that long to treat that arm of yours.” He frowned at my right arm, where the black lines were now creeping above my elbow. “We need to deal with that now before it becomes a crisis situation…if it isn’t one already.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much,” I protested lamely. Indeed, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as a regular vamp bite. There was just a dull, throbbing ache and the skin of my right arm and hand was noticeably cooler than my left. Other than that and the black lines creeping up my arm, I felt fine—by which I mean I was pretty sure I’d still be able to fire my Glock.

  “I don’t care how it feels—it looks bad.” He gave me a steady look as he turned into a public parking area. “Trust me Kate—I’m a doctor, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I sighed. “I just don’t like getting sidetracked on some unimportant issue when—”

  “Your life is not unimportant,” he burst out, surprising me with the vehemence of his words. He parked the car and turned to face me. “In fact, it’s the most important thing. You are important to me, Kate.”

  Just like on the plane, I searched for something sarcastic to say and couldn’t find anything. Nor could I tear my eyes from his steady gaze or stop the way my heart was thumping in my chest.

  God, I really was falling for him. I had to stop that—it was dangerous.

  “All right,” I said at last, looking down after a long, breathless moment. “Let’s make this quick and get back on the road. I’d like to find this Gower place where snake-lady’s sister lives before it gets dark tonight.”

  If Michael was disappointed about my refusal to give his sentiment back to him, he kept it to himself.

  “Come on,” he said, unfolding his tall, muscular frame from the tiny car. “I’m sure we can find a church around here somewhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  As a matter of fact, he was right. Not far from the public parking area we found a tiny tourist directory which consisted of one little old gray haired lady and a rack of brochures. The old lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. Bently, got quite excited when we asked for a church and wanted to tell us all about the history of the little village which had the quintessentially British name of Bromley-upon-Tweed.

  “Oh my yes,” she exclaimed when Michael asked about a nearby Catholic church. “Most of our chapels are Church of England but we do have a lovely Catholic church—quite an o
ld historical building—just up the lane a piece.” She gave us a shy look. “Such a lovely young couple. Are you by any chance looking for a place for your own nuptials?”

  “As a matter of fact, we are,” Michael said before I could shoot that idea out of the sky with a flaming arrow. “We’re here in the UK scouting around for just the perfect place to tie the knot. Right, baby?” He put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

  “Exactly,” I ground out, irritated at his little display and even more irritated at my internal reaction to it—which is to say, my heart started pounding again and my knees felt momentarily weak. “And we thought Bromley-upon-Plaid would be the perfect spot.”

  “Oh, it’s Bromley-upon-Tweed, dear.” The old lady looked shocked, as though I had uttered a blasphemy. “Plaid comes from Scotland, you know.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “Of course. How could I make a mistake like that?”

  “You’ll have to excuse my fiancée—she’s a little grumpy after the long plane ride,” Michael told the lady. He waved the tourist brochure with its enclosed map of the village and nodded at her. “Thanks so much for the information, Mrs. Bently. If we have the wedding here, we’ll be sure to invite you.”

  “Oh my, that would be lovely.” Her faded blue eyes shone. “I do love a wedding!”

  “So do I.” Michael gave me a pointed look as we walked out of the tourist center.

  I shook off his arm.

  “What was that all about? Are you trying to propose to me now?”

  “Would it be so bad if I was?” he shot back.

  “I…I…” I was honestly at a loss for words. “Michael, this is hardly the time or the place,” I said at last.

  “I get the feeling there’s no good time or place to ask you to let down your walls and get closer Kate,” he said softly. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the tiny village’s high street. “Come on—let’s go get some holy water.”

  I followed him, biting my lip in frustration as I strolled down the picturesque cobbled streets. There were quaint little shops bunched together in rows but I could hardly pay attention to them I was so upset. Damn him, why did he have to keep making me want him and then make me feel guilty for not being able to show it?

  We got to the Catholic church, which was a venerable gray stone structure that looked like something off of a postcard. In fact, I was pretty sure I had seen some postcards of it on the rack along with the brochures at the tourist center. At any rate, it was a gorgeous spot for a wedding—as long as the groom wasn’t a vampire, that was.

  “Nice,” Michael commented and headed for the stone structure. He was about to put his hand on the ancient-looking wooden double doors when I grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “No!” There was panic in my voice that I didn’t like but couldn’t help.

  “What?” He looked at me with real curiosity. “What is it?”

  “Didn’t I tell you vamps can’t go into a holy place?” I demanded.

  “Yes, but we know I’m not a regular vamp,” he pointed out. “Honestly Kate, I think I’ll be okay.”

  “You might,” I said. “Or you might not. You might get killed—I’m not okay with taking a risk like that, Michael. I meant what I said on the plane—I’ll go in myself. You stay here at a safe distance.”

  “You do care.” He cupped my face in both hands and leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips. “You do care, Kate,” he murmured. “You can pretend you don’t but you do. I know you do.”

  “All right, you got me,” I muttered unwillingly. “Yes, I care—all right? I don’t…” I swallowed hard. “Don’t want anything happening to you.”

  Michael kissed me again—a long, lingering kiss that made everything inside me seem to turn to mush. At last, he let me go.

  “I’ll stay here,” he promised. “You go get some holy water and then we’ll get back on the road.”

  “What, without saying goodbye to Mrs. Bently? I thought she was coming to our wedding.”

  “If and when you consent to tie your life to mine forever, she can certainly come,” Michael said gravely. “In the meantime, we need to get your arm taken care of.” He nodded at my right arm where I swear the black lines had advanced another inch. Was the infection or whatever it was speeding up? If so I might be in trouble.

  “All right,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “See you in a minute.”

  Getting the holy water wasn’t too hard, even though I got caught dipping into the holy fount by the priest. I simply explained it was for my grandmother, who had come from Bromley-upon-Tweed to America when she was a little girl and wanted a souvenir of her old home. After that he became extremely friendly and even offered to say a prayer for my fictional grandmother. How nice. I thanked him as he finished filling the stoppered glass bottle I was using.

  I was careful to keep my right arm hidden when I took the bottle from him but I nearly dropped it when I transferred it to my right hand as I left the church. There were a few beads of water still on the bottle and when they touched the palm of my right hand, a pain like fire eating through my nerves made my hand spasm helplessly.

  “Son of a bitch!” I exclaimed and then realized the priest could probably still hear me. I hurried out of the church and back out to the street where Michael was waiting.

  “Hey, what was that about?” he asked, eyeing the glass bottle of holy-water in my left hand. “I heard you shout—you all right?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I just got a few drops of the holy water on my hurt hand and it was…” I shook my head, unable to describe the pain. “It was bad.”

  “Let me see.” Michael held out his own hand and I reluctantly allowed him to examine mine. He frowned. “Looks like second degree burns. Are you sure just a few drops of holy water made these?” He pointed to three ugly looking red spots around the base of my thumb. Between those and the stitches my right hand was beginning to look pretty damn bad.

  “I don’t know what else could have made them,” I said uneasily. “But holy water has never done that to me before. I mean, it stings like hell when it disinfects a vamp bite but it’s never burned me before.”

  “Do you think it’s this particular kind of holy water?” Michael frowned. “Are there different kinds?”

  “Not that I know of.” Holding the bottle carefully in my left hand, I opened it with the right. I took a quick taste, and then a sip—nope, seemed fine. Experimentally, I transferred the bottle to the other hand and poured a little of the blessed liquid onto my left hand—nothing. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

  Then I tried pouring a few drops on the inside of my right arm, over the black veins that were snaking up my skin.

  There was a sizzle like oil hitting a hot skillet and I felt like my entire arm had been stripped raw and dipped in a deep fryer.

  Not a pleasant sensation.

  “Shit!” I shook my arm, trying to get rid of the droplets that clung to me like oil. It hurt like hell and made me feel like screaming. You might think I’d be used to the effects of holy water after so many years of killing vamps and using it to disinfect their bites but this was different—it was a hundred times as painful—so painful that for a minute I actually thought I might pass out.

  “God, Kate!” Michael had me by the arm and was examining the place where the water had fallen. “More second degree burns,” he said grimly. “This is bad.”

  “But did it do any good?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did it make the black lines go away?”

  “I don’t think so.” Michael frowned and nodded down at my arm. “See for yourself.”

  “Crap.” Now I was beginning to get worried. I’d told myself earlier that even though the black infection caused by the Monsignor’s bite looked terrible, it could be cured with a little holy water, just like a regular vampire bite. But that didn’t appear to be true.

  “Even if it had helped, there’s no way you could douse your whole arm in that stuff,” Michael p
ointed out. “You’d need skin grafts when you were done.”

  “If these black lines reach my heart I’m probably going to need more than that,” I pointed out. “What are we going to do?” I felt honestly out of options and that was a scary feeling.

  “I’d like to say we should take you to a hospital but I don’t think this is a physical kind of infection. It’s more like…” Michael frowned. “More like an infection of the soul. Why else would your body react to the holy water that way?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, frowning. I didn’t like the idea of my soul being infected—not one damn bit. But I was afraid he was right.

  Michael appeared deep in thought for a moment, then he lifted his chin.

  “We’re going to go find Wellesandra’s sister,” he said decisively. “Maybe she’ll have some answers. But if she doesn’t, we have to go to a hospital and at least let them try to help you. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  I sighed. “Okay, then let’s hit the road. I don’t know if the little bit of holy water that got on me will even slow this thing down. We need to get to snake-lady’s sister ASAP.”

  I just hoped she had some answers for us. Otherwise I was going to be one dead slayer.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The Gower was a high, craggy cliff by the seaside accessible by a narrow trail that wound up and around and led to a kind of plateau where local farmers apparently grazed their sheep and goats.

  There must have been a lot of sheep and goats too—if the amount of little brownish-black pellets littering the narrow trail was any indication. You had to step carefully to avoid them—not that I was paying that much attention by the time we were climbing the trail. I was too preoccupied with the evil black lines which had marched all the way past my shoulder and were reaching for my heart like witch fingers tattooed on my flesh to care about stepping in a little goat crap.